A Thief's Quest for Glory
by theblackwren
Summary: Cyrus the thief comes to Spielburg, looking to make a little money by trying this heroing thing out. Things soon turn complicated, and finds he may have to choose between what he wants to be and what he already is...
1. Chapter 1

Cyrus the Thief Attempts to Be a Hero 

**Chapter 1: Spielburg—Follow the Yellow Dirt Road**

It _would_ have happened to him. There was just no getting around it.

Cyrus stood at the clearing, huffing and breathing heavily as he looked at the expansive mass of snow now cutting off any chance he had of leaving Spielburg by this path. The avalanche had started about a kilometer back, and if he hadn't been in as good a shape as he was, he wasn't sure he would have cleared the mountains in time. As it was, he'd barely hit the forest in time to see the snow pile up and fill the mountains with an impassable deluge of it.

Running a hand through his blonde hair, he pulled himself up to his full height and looked skyward, his brown eyes searching for someone to blame. "Why?" he asked, spreading his arms to his sides so that they could be seen from underneath his red cape. "What did I do this time? I haven't picked any pockets for nearly a full _week_!"

He turned and made his way down the path, cursing in a steady stream of Dutch and English. There was no getting around it. He'd _have_ to make do in this place now. This valley, he'd read, was pretty much only accessible through this road; it was surrounded by mountains on all sides. Now there was no backing out of the job he'd come here for.

And what job had he come here for? A heroing job, of all things!

He'd been having doubts about the whole thing since he'd first seen the ad. The posting had seemed almost too good to be true:

_Town of Spielburg seeks hero. Defeat local brigands and restore prosperity to surrounding valley. Reward of 100 gold pieces and title of Hero of Spielburg to successful applicant. No experience necessary. Heroes from the East especially encouraged to apply._

It sounded great, especially the "no experience" part. Until recently, his only experience with heroing had been his completion of the Famous Adventurer's Hero Correspondence Course, and all that material had been to help him develop his stealth and lockpicking skills. Truth be told, heroing and thieving were often mutually exclusive, but thief skills were valued and often used by professional heroes, so when he saw the ad, he had figured why not try it out? It's not like there was a thieves' guild in his village, anyway.

Now, anyway, he had the first answer to why he shouldn't have tried heroing out. He was stuck in this valley for at least the next couple months; it was _very_ early spring, and the weather up here was still cool, and could easily get colder. The snow wouldn't be melting anytime soon. And Cyrus knew he would need more money than he currently had to survive here that long.

He kept to the path, a dagger now dancing in his throwing hand as he attempted to twirl it, cursing his bad luck as he followed it through the forest. Hopefully the town wasn't too far away. Then he could start looking into this valley and find out more about these local brigands and how to become the town hero.

The forest wasn't bad, all things considered. The path from the mountains was obviously safest, but he could see from its confines that the forest was not as densely pack with trees as it might have been; navigation shouldn't be too big a problem. The lush greenness of the foliage and the occasional bloom from a tree or flower was quite refreshing after seeing so much snow over the last week, and impressed upon him that spring, however tenuous it may be staying around, was here at least for the moment.

Cyrus cursed, suddenly jumping back as the dagger he'd been twirling fell from his fingers to the ground. Its blade immediately pointed to the ground and went several centimeters into the soft yellow-brown dirt of the path. He wasn't sure, but he was pretty sure his foot had been in that spot a second before.

"Geez, it isn't enough you've cut me off in this… place!" he exclaimed to no one in particular. Sarcasm was kind of his 'thing,' as was talking unnecessarily. "You want a toe now, too? When are you gonna leave me alone? Maybe I should become a rutting paladin, is that it?"

Picking the dagger up and sheathing it, Cyrus decided he'd have to work on his knife twirling a little more before he tried doing that again. This wasn't the first… or even the fifth, time he'd nearly injured himself. No point in getting himself killed or hurt when there were probably lots of other things here that would gladly do the job for him.

A few moments later, the gates to the town came clearly into view. Breathing a sigh of relief, Cyrus praised the smallness of the area. If the valley really was as small as he'd read, he would know it well within a week. Seeing that the town was surrounded by a stone wall, he wondered what the denizens inside must have experienced to make them put up such a fortification.

Steeling himself for his now mandatory adventure, he made for the gated community, glad that in a community this small, there couldn't possibly be any thieves' guild to compete against.

Unless, of course, the brigands were union members. But he'd burn that bridge when he came to it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: A Town In Need Is a Town Indeed…**

They call _this_ a town?

The thought came unbidden to Cyrus as he looked around at the alleged splendor of the town of Spielburg. Tucked within the confines of its walls, there were hardly enough buildings to qualify it as a _village_ (well, to his knowledge; actually, he wasn't sure what the specific difference was between a town and a village). There certainly were not enough streets (which, of course, were unbelievably short in length). He could see the two nearest corners of the town from his own point at the entrance; if not for the sheriff's office, he was sure he'd be able to see the furthest.

So lost was he in his own indignation, he was quite surprised when, from right in front of him, a voice caught him unawares.

"Welcome to Spielburg."

Looking down at the porch in front of the sheriff's office building, Cyrus somewhat dumbly noted the town sheriff sitting on it. He was a somewhat comical looking fellow, with a large grey mustache; a thick body that may have been physically fit once, but now was sagging with age and lack of use; and a pipe he was puffing on contentedly. His blue eyes were alive with intelligence, but his demeanor suggested he wasn't the type to help much beyond providing information or advice.

"You must have made it through the pass before the avalanche blocked it. I'm Schultz Meistersson, sheriff of the Town of Spielburg, and this here is my assistant, Otto von Goon."

Leaning on the wall not far from him was the looming, lumbering form of a bald goon. To Cyrus's mind, this meant he was both immensely stronger and infinitely dumber than a normal human. And, to both his amusement and disdain, the behemoth was alternating between clumsily playing with a yo-yo and staring stupidly at it.

Convinced he wasn't in any immediate trouble from the lawman and his assistant, he moved forward to greet them.

"Good to meet you," he said. "My name is Cyrus, and I'm… responding to the ad."

The sheriff nodded, apparently none too impressed. "I thought you looked like an adventurer," he said, taking a pull on his pipe. "Well, we could certainly use one, what between the brigands and the monsters that have taken up here. And, of course, there's that darned ogress."

"Whoa, whoa, what? Ogress?" Cyrus asked, alarm suddenly shooting through him. "There's an ogress involved?"

"Ad didn't mention that?"

"Do you honestly think I'd be here if it did?"

At that the sheriff actually laughed. "Well, I guess it's good that we didn't mention it, since you're the only one that's been dum—brave enough to respond to it. So I guess you've got your work cut out for you!"

Cyrus crossed quickly to the old man, barely suppressing the desire to use his dagger to cut the sheriff's own work out for him. "Oh, yeah," he said, laughing bitterly. "This doesn't change the landscape one little bit. Maybe I'll get turned into a frog and frappéed if I'm lucky!"

"Oh, I'm sure you'll do fine," the sheriff said, patting him on the shoulder. "Quick, resourceful young man like you—I'm sure you'll figure something out."

"Thanks. So much."

The sheriff, if nothing else, was helpful in providing an overview of Spielburg's problems: some years ago, Baron Stefan von Spielburg tried to drive an ogress from the valley; he had failed and she had cursed him. Apparently it worked, as the baron soon lost both his children, and monsters and brigands besieged the valley in just a few years. The baron fell into a deep depression, and hadn't been seen outside his castle for years.

"What can you tell me about the ogress herself?"

"Name's Baba Yaga, and lives somewhere in the valley. That's all I know about her."

He provided the thief with the names of several people he could talk to about the valley and town's problems, including Wolfgang Abenteur at the local hero's guild, Zarra at the town magic shop, and the Kattas at the nearby Inn, where there currently dwelt a man who'd recently been robbed by the brigands. He also mentioned that the local tavern might be a place to get some information, but he seemed reluctant to mention it.

"Don't trust that place, myself," he said. "All the local trouble I have to deal with usually comes from there. Bartender also has a mean goon in there. Mostly local riffraff. I wouldn't go in there unless you have to."

Cyrus nodded, thinking he might have to give the place a visit for precisely that reason. Local riffraff…

"Thanks for your time, Sheriff Meistersson," he said with a bow. Taking a final look at Otto, who'd become extremely interested in examining the various sides of his yoyo, he started to walk away, saying, "I guess I'd better get started."

The sheriff smiled slightly and nodded at him. "Best of luck on your quest!"

Walking away from the sheriff, Cyrus thought bitter thoughts at the old man. _I'll certainly need it NOW, won't I?_

Mentally cursing his luck yet again, he made a silent vow to personally get even with the sadistic entity that decided to create ogres and release them upon Glorianna.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: The Adventurer's Guild**

Closing the door quickly behind him, Cyrus breathed an immediate sigh of relief, not even bothering to look around at the contents of the town's adventurer's guild. One of the shop's he'd passed on the way here had been staring at him! A large eye, over the entrance of the store, had followed him with its disconcertingly singular gaze from just past the inn all the way to the door of the adventurer's guild. It had given Cyrus the creeps, and he wasn't looking forward to going back out there with it.

It was undoubtedly the town's magic shop. That creepy eye was probably the owner's sick idea of a joke. Mages were weird people, after all.

Turning his head to the guild's interior, the first thing Cyrus noticed about it was that the single room was not particularly well lit. A fire burned in the hearth at the far end of the room, and in front of it was a large padded chair from which a good deal of loud snoring was emanating in uneven fits. Aside from the sunlight diffusing into the room, there was no other light source.

"Note to self," he said quietly, "do not get caught here at night."

The heads of what had once been monsters lined the north wall of the room, trophies of the local adventurers. He could make out several: the dragon was obvious, as were the gryphon, troll, and saurus. Three of them, however, were mysteries: a hirsute black head, shaped strikingly like that of a man but with pronounced feline features; a brown-furred, big head with a large, elongated round snout and antlers—it certainly didn't look very dangerous; and something he'd NEVER seen before. It was blue, shaped rather like a large teardrop (gum drop?), and had two sets of red eyes.

The names beneath them read Cheetaur, Moose, and Antwerp, respectively.

Cyrus sighed. "Where in good Glorianna have I come to?" he wondered.

The only other noteworthy feature of the guild was a rickety old desk, not far from the entrance. Momentarily resisting the urge to open the drawers and start searching for valuables, Cyrus noticed the large, open book sitting atop it. Looking at its pages, he noted the last entry. It said, _Baronet Barnard von Spielburg killed a troll near the Flying Falls this 23rd day of Octember_. Looking back up, Cyrus wondered what a place would have to look like or be to earn that kind of name.

_Flying falls_, he thought. _Maybe it's near a cliff. Too many people tried to teach themselves to fly, and fell._

He stifled a laugh at his own bad joke, and took the pen and added his name to the register, convinced that flying was something that neither nor any other man would ever experience.

Knowing full well he wouldn't like what he had to do next, he slinked quietly to the chair near the fireplace, the source of all the snoring. Looking around the side he saw an old man with iron gray hair and a long beard sawing logs contentedly in it. This must have been Wolfgang, the guildmaster. He wore provincial Spielburg dress, and a long, rusty sword lay in his lap, as did a flask of liquid and a washcloth. He looked every bit the part of the adventurer has-been.

_As opposed to an adventure wannabe_, he thought. _Well, technically, I'm not even that. I'm an adventurer don't-wannabe_.

_No, technically you're a thief._

The last thought came unbidden, from another part of his subconscious, and Cyrus was stunned—and a bit stung—by its sudden intensity, and… what? Vitriol?

Shaking his head, he straightened up and let out a polite, "Ahem."

The guildmaster continued to snore loudly.

Moving in front of the man, directly between him and the fireplace, he grunted a louder and more insistent, "Ahem. Excuse me, sir, are you…?"

The snoring grew even louder, as if to spite him.

"HEY!" Cyrus yelled, fed up.

The old man woke with a started, coughing tiredly, snapping into a sitting-up position, and glancing about wildly, sword hilt in one hand and flask in the other. Finally noticing the stranger in front of him, he craned his neck forward and squinted, as if uncertain he was really there. Finally, he spoke, in a deep voice that carried the weight of many years and burdens in it.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I was so busy, I didn't notice you come in. Welcome to the Spielburg Hero's Guild. We don't see many adventurers lately, most people think this valley is cursed. I'm Wolfgang Abenteur, the guildmaster."

Cyrus nodded, in an attempt to humor the old man. No point in appearing rude when you needed information.

"I'm Cyrus," he replied, nodding his head. "I'm responding to the ad for a hero of Spielburg. Sheriff Meistersson told me you might know a thing or two about this place."

"Well, I'd better! I've been master of this guild for twenty-five years!"

"Not the guild," Cyrus said, hoping he successfully bit back the impatience he was feeling. "The town. The valley. What can you tell me about the curse?"

"Oh, that. Yah, I know lots about those things."

The next hour was both fascinating and difficult for Cyrus. Fascinating because Wolfgang Abenteur did indeed have plenty to say, most of which was even interesting. He had once been an adventurer, along with Baron von Spielburg himself, with whom he'd fought off a dragon. He knew much about the valley's layout, the monsters, and the more noteworthy places to go (Flying Falls, as it turned out, was very close to town, and derived its name from entirely different origins to Cyrus's flippant earlier supposition).

He even knew about Spielburg castle and the baron's children, as well as how he soon lost them after his failed attempt to drive Baba Yaga out of Spielburg. The curse, he said, was that the baron would lose all he held dear for attempting to displace the ogress, and that only under a very specific set of circumstances would it be lifted. He knew the ogress lived to the northwest somewhere, and that she could only be defeated by powerful magic. All in all, Wolfgang must have been quite the hero in his youth, and Cyrus found his tales fascinating.

What was difficult was the man's narcolepsy.

No less than ten times did Wolfgang nod off to sleep in the middle of a sentence, only to snap awake moments later to re-introduce himself to the young adventurer. Cyrus would then have to spend another few moments getting the old man to remember where he'd left off, and eventually continue with his stories about the area and the people and things in it.

By the time he'd gleaned all the information he thought would be of use from the old man, he was happy to leave Rip Van Wolfgang to his peaceful slumber.

"Next stop, the magic shop," he breathed, not happy about it. It's owner, Zarra, was currently his only hope of defeating this ogress witch. Hopefully he'd provide Cyrus with some means of battling her. He didn't like the idea of going into that creepy shop, but he knew he had no choice.

Because unfortunately, sometimes the only way to beat a magic user was to get help… from another magic user.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4: The Magical Mystery Tour**

Cyrus wandered warily towards the Magic Shop, not entirely convinced it was of his own accord. Magic tended to creep him out, and while he normally tended to avoid places that sported atop their entrances a large magical eye, he couldn't for some reason let it intimidate him right now. That, coupled with his immediate need for information about Spielburg, steeled his resolve to enter the shop, despite the eye's unsettling fixation upon his movements. Unable to take his eyes off its gaze, he approached until he nearly disappeared from its view (he hoped) under the entranceway.

"I bet you never lose a staring contest, eh?" he asked, then quickly made for the door.

He jumped back as a small explosion sounded above him, looking up, he saw a play of lightning or electricity or some kind of magical energy crackle above the eye and disappear. When nothing else happened a few seconds later, he moved again toward the door, doing his best this time to ignore the eye.

"Do I need to knock?" he muttered. "I don't see any knockers or doorbell…"

He raised a hand, about to rap on the door, when he was again startled by the shop. The door began to disappear as he was about to touch it, washing briefly in some mystical energy, then dissipating as if it had never been there. Staring into the dark entranceway where it had been, Cyrus's pulse quickened. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea.

_I need information_, he told himself silently. _This valley's obviously magical, and if there really is an ogress responsible for cursing it, I'll need all the help I can get._

Keeping his throwing hand under his cape near his dagger, the thief moved stealthily into the confines of the shop.

It was nearly half a minute before he could really make out any of the interior details, and he wasn't prepared for what he saw when he did. On either side of the aisle leading to the counter, shelves were packed with strange materials that could only be kept and used by wizarding folk. From arcane, dusty spellbooks placed high overhead to dried out, jarred and embalmed spell components making his stomach churn uncomfortably at eye level, Cyrus was immediately put on high alert by the things he recognized.

The things he couldn't recognize were even more strange. Some containers seemed to have glowing, flashing liquid light shows of all colors going on inside them, yet they never moved, popped, or turned over. He saw one metallic box contraption that had a sign underneath it—one he swore wasn't there before he looked directly at it.

It said, "Toaster. Due for invention in another 100 years."

Furrowing his brow at that, he shook his head and moved toward the counter. "Is anyone here—!"

A leathery black flash of movement above him and to his right caused Cyrus to jump sideways.

"Geez—!"

Near the counter, up on one of the closest shelves, was a man-sized bat!

Well, not exactly. He was more like a man with pronounced bat-like features. At least, that's what the two arms, two legs, and strong muscled body that virtually glittered black seemed to suggest at first. However, the two leathery wings with red "lining," demonic shape of its face, and glowing red eyes staring fixedly at him begged to differ about its supposed humanity.

Cyrus had his hand on the hilt of his throwing dagger, but didn't draw. The creature hadn't moved since unfolding its wings. It merely looked at him.

After a few moments of near-hyperventilation, Cyrus sighed. "And here I was, thinking all you magic folk were strange. I was wrong. You're all creepy!"

The creature inclined its head slightly to the side. Cyrus interpreted it to be a smirk.

"Are you Zarra, the owner of this shop?" Cyrus asked, dreading that it might be.

The creature shook its head in negation, its sleek face still pointed sinisterly at him.

"So, where can I find him?"

A wave of the arms to the counter indicated its answer.

"But no one's there," Cyrus answered, gesturing at the unmanned table. "Unless—unless he's invisible…"

The creature again shook its head, a pained look of annoyance forming as it visibly rolled its red eyes at him. Another, more insistent wave toward the counter finally induced Cyrus to walk up to it.

Another flash of lighting popped forth and made him jump back, hand on dagger. By the time he recovered his sight, a beautiful woman, not quite of human lineage, stood behind the counter. She had long, red hair, pointed ears, and a body that men (and quite a few women) would easily kill for. Her dark, focused eyes, however, told Cyrus that she was no plaything to be trifled with. Still…

He remembered not seeing any knockers on the way into this shop. He privately quipped that he could certainly see some now!

"I am Zarra," she said immediately, "and my companion is Damiano. This shop carries items designed for magic users. We have very little for those like you, who have not been initiated, but perhaps a few items can be of help."

She said nothing more, merely looked at him. Cyrus assumed that was the closest thing she had to a sales pitch, and nodded.

"That's fine," he said, not imagining he could ever use anything he bought in here. "But actually, I'm just looking for information right now. Can you help me out?"

Zarra's hands went to her hips, and Cyrus noted with some queasiness that Damiano's did as well. "What is the nature of this information?" she inquired.

"Magical, of course," Cyrus replied, feeling a little more at ease. "I'm an adventurer, and here to apply for the Hero job, but I don't know any magic, or much about the curse's magical aspects. I imagine you're the most knowledgeable about magic around here, so I wanted to ask for any information you had about this area."

Zarra continued to look fixedly at him, and he found her half-closed eyes, the no-nonsense set of her slender jaw, and tightness of her lips impossible to read. He was about to speak when she finally started talking.

"There is much magic in this valley, and as many ways to discover it," she said. "It is something of a nexus of magical power, and attracts many who use it. I am here in town, Erasmus has his house on Mount Zauberberg, and even the ogress Baba Yaga has her hut cooped up somewhere around here."

"Do you know where?" Cyrus asked.

"I have no interest in that wicked hag, and neither shall you, if you are wise," she replied. "She is both powerful and vengeful. The last man who took an interest in ridding this place of her lost everything he ever cared about."

Zarra went on, in her efficient way, speaking about the valley, the town, and the other magic-wielding denizens of Spielburg. The town itself was even protected by an Aura that mostly prevented acts of harm or violence from being committed within the town walls, though it may have missed several "dark places" to which the beautiful faery-human alluded. There was also apparently a magic user named Erana who had once been here; she was responsible for not only the Aura around the town, but a place beyond the town walls where he might be safe, if ever he was caught outside at night.

"It is called Erana's Peace, and it is to the north."

"What does it look like?" Cyrus asked.

"You will know it when you arrive there," the mage replied.

Cyrus sighed, but didn't press the woman for more information. He'd known too many magic users to think it would yield any information he could use, and when they were provoked, often the assailant could suddenly end up in the most crowded of places, mysteriously bereft of clothing. Not that he knew anything about that personally.

As far as magic users went, though, this one was remarkably lucid. One particularly engrossing bit of information she gave came in the way the curse was worded:

"Upon von Spielburg and all his clan, this Curse I now demand: what I will shall come full measure, so shall ye lose all that ye treasure."

Spiteful words, Cyrus thought, and for a moment he couldn't help but be transfixed by the rage that must have provoked their utterance. Zarra must have noticed, because the next words she spoke were, "There is always a way to break a curse. You would do well to ask Erasmus about this; he knows more than I."

Cyrus nodded, feeling more and more like he was being sent on a wild moose chase. "Erasmus on Mount Zauberberg? What's he like?"

"He's kind enough," Zarra replied, somewhat disinterestedly, "though his sense of humor is a bit difficult to grasp."

That made Cyrus's heart sink. He left the shop dreading that eventual meeting.

Any mage who made _other mages_ confused was going to be too much for him anyday.


End file.
